


I Dare You

by Prodigal_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tickling, angels trying to understand humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_anon/pseuds/Prodigal_anon
Summary: Castiel might have figured out how to successfully communicate with Dean.





	

Cas rescued Dean’s soul from Hell.  It’s the event their entire relationship was formed upon: Castiel, armored and wielding his blade, a being of pure light and righteous fury, swooping down upon the darkened soul as it had flinched back from him.  Dean.  The demonic darkness that had been clinging to him was shattered away as Castiel approached, leaving only a small and terrified soul of remarkable beauty, noticeable even in that situation.

 

Castiel had scooped up that small and trembling soul and eased him deep inside the safety of his grace. Dean entered a dreaming state, awakening only when some of Hell’s greater warriors caught up to Castiel and battle resumed briefly.  Other angels did the bulk of the fighting then, leaving Castiel to guard Dean.  But especially towards the end, the final week of their flight from Hell, there were no battles, no escort of other angels. It was just the two of them. Castiel healed Dean’s soul entirely, with delicate care, and had the privilege (though he didn’t think of it as a privilege at the time, only a duty) to view the entirety of Dean’s soul in the process: his thoughts and memories and fears, the things that were important to him.  Castiel’s first thought had been strong doubt that Dean Winchester was ever going to agree to be Michael’s Sword.  

 

His second thought: marveling at the beauty of him.  Dean’s beautiful soul is the product of his righteous life and deep dedication.  Dean loves his brother, is fiercely dedicated to his friends and family, strives to do right – indeed, for all his outward swagger, Dean is unexpectedly sensitive and wants to leave a legacy of good in the world.  His soul is profoundly clear and sweet, shining no matter how much darkness tries to cloud it, desperately seeking love and approval in return.  All of this, Cas saw and understood.  He knew Dean Winchester, more completely than many humans are known by anyone in their lives.

 

One would think that kind of intimate knowledge of a person’s soul would be sufficient to make a simple conversation easier, but it doesn’t appear to be the case.

 

Cas is frustrated about it. He has so many things he wants to say to Dean, but he keeps saying it wrong, or Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. Sam has been sympathetic, telling him that talking to Dean about anything is always a chore.  Cas doesn’t understand why Dean has to be so deliberately obstinate and unwilling to communicate.

 

It’s when Cas is visiting Asariel and Purah at their vigil in the playground that the idea comes to him.

 

Purah does not make a very convincing child, Cas is thinking – too somber, too still, even more than a withdrawn child might be.  The children surrounding them are noisy and rough and energetic, drawing a sharp contrast. One small group is gathered around a structure of interconnected bars supporting a long flat plane of metal.  A small child is hesitant about climbing to the top in order to slide down; his friends have demonstrated its safety and are pressing him to try it himself.  

 

“I dare you!” they say to him, over and over, until he finally gives in to their challenge and goes down the slide, equal parts terrified and elated.

 

After the playground has been cleared out, and the portal to Heaven has been opened, Cas is still remembering that childish challenge.

 

He sees it elsewhere – a dare to eat something questionable, a dare to do something frightening, a dare to tell a boy he’s cute.  It’s a way to throw down a gauntlet and obligate another to do something they are reluctant to do – to force the matter.  It’s all very childish and silly.  But then, so is Dean, sometimes.  And that puts in mind another childish, silly thing that might get results.

 

It’s three weeks after the epiphany in the playground that Cas puts his plan in motion.  Sam is conveniently out running (Cas wonders sometimes if Sam does this intentionally; if so, he’ll have to extend his gratitude someday).  Cas appears while Dean is in the shower and waits patiently for him in the lounge, sitting on their sofa.  As much as he enjoys watching Dean startle when the angel appears next to him, he wants to maintain Dean’s good mood for this.

 

It starts off well: Dean calls to him when he sees him, sounding generally happy to see him. “Hey, Cas!  Wasn’t expecting you here!”

 

“I have little to do at present, so I thought I’d come by to see how you were,” Cas says, as though he hasn’t been monitoring the bunker carefully to know that they’re between hunts and that Sam is out running – in other words, when was the most opportune time to arrive.

 

Dean claps him on the shoulder.  “Well, it’s good to see you any time, man, especially when there’s no shit going down. Uh, I think Sammy’s out, but he’ll be back soon.  Want some pretzels or something?”  He’s referring to Cas’s latest unbecoming obsession  with salty foods.  

 

“Thank you for your offer, but no.  However, I wonder if you’d be willing to do something for me?”

 

“What’s that?” Dean asks slumping down on the couch next to Cas.  He smells clean and soapy.  

 

“Raise your hands over your head.”

 

It’s a testament to Cas’s frequent misspeakings that Dean only raises an eyebrow at the strange request, though he doesn’t actually obey.  Yet.

 

“And the reason why should do this is…?”

 

Cas hopes for the best. “Because… I  _ dare _ you to.”

 

At this, Dean chuckles and his face relaxes into a familiar expression: a look of “here-we-go-Cas-is-trying-some-new-human-thing-this-should-be-funny,” equal parts fond and patronizing, and it annoys Cas as much as it gives him relief because it  means Dean’s probably going to indulge him.

 

“You dare me to?  Cas, you know that’s for kids, right?  Not for grown-up angels who were around when life was created?”

 

“You refuse, then? You decline the dare?”  Cas raises his own eyebrow back at Dean, trying to convey a sense of not-surprised.  Goading, that’s the key.

 

Dean is drawn to the bait. “I’m not refusing, I just – it’s dumb! It’s a dumb dare!  You’re supposed to do things that actually call for  _ daring _ .”

 

“It doesn’t fall upon the one doing the dare to decide if it’s worthy or not.  I’ve administered a dare to you.  From what I understand, you’re honor-bound to accept the challenge, or be a bitch like Sam forever?”

 

This draws a bark of laughter from Dean.  “I guess you’ve asked Sammy about the procedure then?  ‘Administered a dare,’ you two are both unbe-fucking-lievable dorks,” Dean rolls his eyes heavily so that Cas can see his disdain.  “All right, fine, you weirdo.   Here’s your dare.  I’m holding my hands over my head – ooh, so daring!  So brave!  I can’t believe I aahhaHA!”

 

His voice rises in a squeal as Cas darts his fingers into the hollows under his arms.  Dean snaps his arms down and clamps his mouth shut, glaring at Cas with a promise of retribution on the horizon.

 

“Dare you to keep them up,” Cas says, before Dean can say anything.  He smirks at the way the hunter’s eyes widen.

 

“Oh, you little  _ shit _ .  This was your angle, huh?  You know, this is even dumber and more babyish than ahahahaack!”

 

Cas interrupts the complaint by wriggling his fingers where they’re still stuck under Dean’s arms.  “Are you backing out on the dare?  I’ll be sure to let Sam know that he’s not the only little bitch in the bunker.  He’ll be sure to wonder at how it came pass.”

 

Dean scowls at him, jaw set. Slowly, looking as though he’s in agony (but his face is flushed, his eyes are crinkled, his lips tremble at the corners), Dean raises his arms.

 

“…..Fine.  Dick with wings.  Get on with it then!”

 

Dean’s expression of stony discontent doesn’t last long – he collapses fairly immediately when Cas takes his permission to begin tickling in earnest.

 

He explores every inch of Dean’s body available to him, cheating by recalling memories from when he re-formed Dean’s soul.  

 

He squeezes Dean’s knees, getting a jumpy, goofy sort of laugh; he drums lightly up and down his ribs, which makes Dean dance in place on the sofa, trying to squirm away; he pokes his finger into Dean’s navel which is wonderful because it lets him feel the way his tummy trembles and quakes with the laughter that increases in decibel and octave; he scribbles his fingers over Dean’s sides and armpits, watching the hunter’s face screw up in hilarity as he tries with commendable effort to keep his arms over his head, leaving himself exposed to the tickling.

 

It’s fantastic.  At some point Dean’s stopped cursing and just allowed himself to laugh, leaning over backwards on the couch to squirm and giggle there on his back.  Completely submitting to Cas’s ministrations – with absolutely nothing but Cas’s challenge to keep him from fleeing.  

 

Satisfied that his plan worked, Cas decides to go in for the kill – he knows from Dean’s memories what spot will be his downfall.  He gives Dean a moment to catch his breath as Cas’s fingers slowly and lightly tease their way down his stomach, before suddenly fluttering them over the exposed jut of his hips.

 

Dean  _ shrieks _ , and the dare is over as he curls up immediately, trying to defend himself.

 

“Ha!  You’ve lost the dare, Dean Winchester!” Cas gloats, digging his thumbs into the curve of hipbone and rotating them, drinking in the sound of Dean’s wailing laughter.

 

This is fun – better than fun, it’s a pure delight to see Dean lost in merriment, trying to roll around away from Cas’s fingers, shrieking laughter and curses.  Years lift from him and Cas feels he’s looking at the carefree young man Dean always should have been.

 

Dean’s half-heartedly trying to retaliate, though most of his energy is dedicated to curling up in a protective ball.  Far too ticklish to participate in a fair fight; Cas easily has the upper hand, even without tapping into angelic strength.  Not to mention that Dean is clearly enjoying himself, loving the waves of sensation that assault him.  But Cas is curious.

 

“I dare you to tickle me back,” he says, still lightly digging into his hips.

 

“That’s nahahaha, not h-how you’re suppo-hohosed t-to..” Dean can’t finish his reprimand over the giggling.

 

“You have to do it, or you’re a rooster,” Cas says, easing back on the tickling to allow the look of confusion on Dean’s face.

 

“A-a what?”  

 

“A rooster.  Of the family of domesticated jungle fowl.”  Cas keeps his face stony while Dean frowns, working it out, and then the angel adds, for clarification: “Buck-buck-buck-aw.”

 

Dean’s face  _ crumples _ in helpless amusement.  Dean Winchester is  _ slain _ .  “It’s – Cas, oh my god, it’s supposed to be – ch-chicken – “

 

Cas glows with pleasure at making Dean laugh.  Yes, sometimes the mistakes Cas makes are genuine, but Dean hasn’t yet caught on that Cas is most often “trolling” him, as Sam calls it.  

 

He dances his fingers up and down Dean’s ribs, adding to the hilarity.  “I dared you, Dean.  Are you going to accept the dare?  Or be a cowardly rooster forever?”

 

Dean laughs harder for a moment before rallying, throwing himself at the angel.  Cas allows himself to be knocked over, allows Dean to straddle him, smirks up into Dean’s panting, grinning face.

 

“I ain’t no rooster, Cas,” Dean growls, still grinning.  “You’re gonna wish you’d never thrown that dare in my face!”  

 

The hunter’s fingers are attacking him then, wriggling with devastating talent in between Cas’s ribs, over his belly, into his armpits, preventing any rejoinder from the angel. Laughter pours out of Cas’s mouth as he arches his back and squirms around.  Any air his vessel can suck into his lungs is reserved for laughter and pleading, and it feels like he can barely even think straight, but he knows that there will be no regret for daring Dean Winchester to tickle him like this.

 

Because one of the things Cas had wanted to say to Dean was this:  you are dear to me.  I want to touch you, to bring you joy, to take the burdens from you.  He never found the right words to say it, before, and probably Dean wouldn’t have tolerated hearing it.  

 

But this way, with the “I dare you,” and the tickling?  Yeah, Cas is pretty sure he nailed it.


End file.
